The Grief and Gratitude of Aging

Both feelings are intertwined in this later stage of life. 

It’s Sunday morning 3am. 

Waking up feeling such sadness this morning, and unable to go back to sleep, I find that I need to write.

I will attend a memorial for a friend this week. I will call him Henry. Henry was a fellow volunteer at the local zoo where I have been volunteering for 11 years. He was there for over 30 years. He was able to keep doing this, talking about elephants to all who were interested, up until the day that he had a stroke about a month ago. At 93, he would drive himself to the zoo 6 days per week. He was an inspiration to me. 

We are going to be moving our last elephant at the zoo soon to an elephant sanctuary in Tennessee. He will have elephant friends there and also be able to see another elephant that we moved there last September. They can reconnect. It will be good for him. I remind myself of this when I feel the sadness at no longer having him be part of my week, my routine, my life. Sanctuaries are so much better for those elephants that cannot be in the wild. Even though our zoo loved him and provided the best a life that we could for him, this sanctuary has thousands of acres compared to our 6 acres. We have slowly lost all of ours over the past two years. We had 4 when I started, then 3, then 2, now 1, soon none. 

Henry used to wonder what he would do when our last elephant moved. Well, that’s no longer a concern. He left before the elephant did. 

Here it is again, the circle of life, the certainty of death, the lessons of age. He was 93. Yes, he lived a good life, and thankfully was able to do what he enjoyed up to the very end. But I still miss him, and I am still sad. That’s to be expected and normal. 

I lose more friends as the years go by. Even celebrities that I grew up with, when they die, have a huge impact on me. I am watching this generation leave to make room for the next, who will do the same when it is their time. 

There is the daily grief of aging. My body doesn’t do what it used to do. New pains and aches, new conditions, new issues to deal with come up regularly. It’s humbling. 

The face and body that I see in the mirror are not what I am used to yet. I struggle with trying not to compare what I used to look like with what the reality is now. It can be pretty harsh, jarring, shocking. I don’t look in the mirror as much these days. 

My energy level is not what it was. Granted, I am recovering from a bout of COVID, so right now that has really changed. But even before that, naps seem to be a common part of my routine these days, whether I intend to take them or not. 

I now look around my home to see what I can let go of next. It’s a time of life to reduce belongings, to simplify, to declutter. Accumulating things no longer has any appeal. I don’t need more stuff. Less is better and helps me feel lighter. I am trying to lighten the load before my final trip, a trip where not even carry-on baggage is allowed. 

Grief is my constant companion now. We will finish this journey together. 

And yet, there is more. 

I am in awe when I take a walk in the redwoods at the beauty and sacredness around me. Touching one of these wondrous trees as I walk by can bring me to tears. I feel a connection, a kinship, a feeling of being understood and held somehow.

I take delight in watching the birds bathe in my backyard. It is one of the best ballets that I have seen. It feels like a gift to be able to provide the space for them to do this, to provide water for both baths and thirst. I am delighted and grateful.

I can feel such a depth of connection even with someone that I don’t formally know when we walk by and make genuine eye contact and smile. We see each other and time stops for that moment as we connect.

Deep conversations with friends bring me satisfaction and a feeling of being heard, really heard. 

I can cry at the kindness of others. A kind word, a helping hand, someone reaching out to connect can touch me beyond what I can describe. Even online, the connections are moving and important to me. I am grateful once again. 

I appreciate the beauty of the earth around me, even more as I am now more aware of a time when I will no longer be here to see it, feel it, be in it. Where did all those years go? How did I get here so quickly? I breathe it all in. For this moment, I am still here.

I am still here. I am still alive, still experiencing all of this, even the sadness and grief. How lucky I am. How wonderful, poignantly bittersweet and wonderful this life can be. 

Aging seems to be a place where I can learn more and more to contain all the feelings, even those that seem to contradict each other. Life is not simple, not black or white. Neither are we. 

What a gift it is to be here still, to be conscious of this life, of its end, and of the exquisite pain and joy of being alive.